The Owl and the Pussycat
by andromeda527
Summary: Based on the poem by Edward Lear.


If you haven't read the full text of this whimsical poem, you really should; only the first and last stanzas are included here. I've wanted to work it into a fanfiction for a long time, because the title has always reminded me of Albus and Minerva--you know, the owl and pussycat. Incidentally, Albus's limerick is also by Edward Lear.

_The owl and the pussycat went to sea,_

_In a beautiful pea-green boat:_

_They took some honey,_

_And plenty of money_

_Wrapped up in a five-pound note._

Minerva was completely mystified by Albus's fascination with the used Muggle rowboat he had bought in Hogsmeade for ten Sickles. Merlin knew things could get boring around Hogwarts castle in the summer, but really, a rowboat? He had convinced Hagrid to help him build a little dock for it on the edge of the lake, and one afternoon she had spied him painting it pea-green as she glanced out the window of her office, getting green paint all down the front of his robes. Had she been able to hear him, he would doubtless have been humming some odd little tune to himself, completely absorbed in what he was doing. Why he didn't use a spell instead of painting it himself was beyond her.

One evening after dinner, she was reading in her study when there was a knock on her door. There was Albus, the twinkle in his blue eyes even more pronounced than usual. "It's a beautiful evening, Professor McGonagall," he said; "You really should go out and enjoy it for a bit."

Right away she knew he was up to something. "Did you have anything—er—specific in mind?"

"Why, I thought we might take a ride in my beautiful boat. The paint is quite dry by now, and Hagrid assures me he has plugged all the holes."

"How reassuring." She heaved an exasperated sigh. His suggestion was absolutely silly, but her mind _had_ been wandering as she perused _Advanced Transfiguration Algorithms_... perhaps it was time for a break.

She didn't begin to get truly suspicious until she noticed he had a book of his own tucked under his arm. "Bringing reading material along, Dumbledore?" Minerva asked as they descended the steps to the entrance hall. "Afraid my company will bore you?"

"Really, Minerva, I'm surprised at you. You know I find your company most enjoyable. It's just a bit of poetry, that's all."

Poetry???

The setting sun cast long, velvet shadows across the Hogwarts lawn and died the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest crimson. The waves lapping against the shore of the lake made a soothing sound as Minerva situated herself awkwardly in one end of the boat while Albus untied the mooring and grasped the oars. "All set?"

"Yes."

He rowed them out into the very middle of the lake, and there they sat. It _was_ a lovely evening, Minerva had to admit, but what were they doing here? Did Albus have any purpose in mind behind this little excursion?

"Would you like to hear a poem?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"All right," she answered somewhat nervously, not knowing what to expect. He opened the book, cleared his throat with a fastidious little cough, and began to read.

"There was an old man with a beard, who said, 'It is just as I feared! Two owls and a hen, four larks and a wren, have all built their nests in a beard!'"

After a very pregnant pause, Minerva burst out laughing. She had been fearing a ridiculous love sonnet or some such, but how typical of Albus to bring along a book of nonsense limericks! Albus began to grin, then to chuckle, and soon they were both breathless with laughter. Too breathless with laughter too notice they were rocking the boat.

Until, that is, it capsized.

There was nothing to do but swim to shore, although it wasn't easy in heavy robes. Finally they made it, and Albus gazed forlornly at his little boat, still upside down in the middle of the lake, bobbing up and down in the moonlight—the sun had finally dipped below the horizon and the day had faded fast. Then he turned to Minerva, a stream of water dripping from the end of his beard. "Ah, well, these things happen. I suggest we go up to the castle and change."

"You old coot. _Now_ you decide to be practical." She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Dance with me, Albus." He reached for her hands and they twined their fingers together, waltzing to the music of his tuneless humming.

_And hand in hand on the edge of the sand  
They danced by the light of the moon,  
The moon,  
The moon,  
They danced by the light of the moon._


End file.
